A Day Off
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: All Hardison and Maevis want is to chill for the day and play WoW. But Parker wants to go spy on Eliot, and of course, whatever Parker wants, she usually finds a way to get. (Dæmonverse)


**A/N: this is a dæmonverse fic. I couldn't post it as such since I can't cross-post to three fandoms on this site.**

* * *

Alec Hardison—Maevis, kinkajou  
Cassandra Cillian—Zurial, African wild dog  
Eliot Spencer—Margaretha, clouded leopard  
Parker—Bunny, leopard gecko

* * *

"I'm goin' out."

Hardison raises a hand in acknowledgment of Eliot's call, stretched out on the sofa with his laptop open. No con today, just kicking some major ass on WoW and showing the noobs how it's _done._ Maevis perches on the arm of the sofa behind his head, peering over his shoulder at the screen and pointing out things he misses from time to time.

"Where are you going?" Parker asks, looking up from the...instruction manual?...that's she's reading. Bunny is clinging to her hair like a very strange clip, staring intently at Eliot's dæmon where she sits neatly next to his booted feet.

Eliot shrugs. "Just out, Parker. It's a day off, yeah? I'll be back later." He pulls on his jacket and heads out the door, his ever-quiet dæmon padding along behind him on her velvety paws.

Once the door thumps shut, Parker springs to her feet and jumps up to perch on the back of the sofa. "Let's follow him," she announces.

Hardison sits up so swiftly he nearly knocks Maevis off the sofa. "Do _what?"_ he yelps. "No! Bad idea, babe. No way. It's the man's day off, let him go do whatever he finds cathartic. Punching down walls or something, I dunno. Leave the man be."

Parker's lip slides out in a little pout. "Why? I just wanna know what he's doing. Come on, please?"

 _Oh, no. Not the eyes. Not the eyes,_ he thinks, but it's too late. She's giving him the damn eyes again, and he's doomed. Maevis sighs softly, and he closes out his session, setting aside his laptop. "He's gonna kill us," Hardison observes as he puts on his scarf.

"No, he won't."

"No, you're right, he won't. We're just gonna _wish_ that we were dead," he corrects himself, and Parker rolls her eyes, reaching out to smack him on the arm in what was probably meant to be a supportive way. "Fine, fine, woman. Let's go." He holds out his arm, and Maevis clambers up onto his shoulder, coiling her fuzzy tail under his chin.

"He is gonna kill us, isn't he? I mean, I don't have to worry about her eating me, do I?" Maevis murmurs in his ear as they follow after Eliot, maintaining safe distance from the hitter so they don't accidentally set off his mercenary Spidey Senses.

Hardison doesn't answer. Eliot's leopard dæmon, who he still doesn't know the name of, is notoriously quiet and imposing, almost more so than Eliot himself, and Maevis has seen her clear a six-foot jump in one bound and seen her long, deadly sharp teeth that earned her species the nickname "last of the sabre-tooth."

Parker taps Hardison's arm and points into the park. "There he is."

Hardison can't quite believe what he's looking at, and neither can Maevis, climbing up to perch atop his head like that'll somehow change their view.

There's a woman sitting under one of the big trees in the park, a blanket spread out on the ground under her and a picnic basket set next to her. She's leaning back against the trunk with her legs stretched out in front of her, a book in hand, and Eliot is lying on his back next to her, his head and shoulders in her lap. Her free hand is lightly carding through his hair. Eliot almost looks like he's asleep, which would have been miraculous in its own right, but then he reaches out and takes one of the crackers that the woman hands him.

The woman's dæmon is some kind of dog. Hardison's not familiar with the species, but it's some combination of the sleek, racing elegance of a greyhound with enormous Mickey Mouse ears and a mottled pattern of black, tan, and white, but less 'tortoiseshell cat' and more 'dropped the paints on the dog.' But what's really mind-boggling is the way _Eliot's_ dæmon is acting. The small leopard is playing with the woman's dæmon. Playing. _Frolicking,_ even. Like a kitten. The dog dæmon bounds around, dropping his elbows to the ground, tail wagging in the air, the universal canine signal for play, and Eliot's leopard responds, mock-pouncing. The two dæmons tumble around in the grass, chasing each other in circles around the tree, swatting and snapping at each other but never doing any harm.

"Well, that's vaguely disturbing," Maevis announces succinctly, digging her strong hind feet into Hardison's scarf. And it sort of is. Eliot's dæmon does not play. Not even when Eliot turns up the charm on a woman. Most of the time, she seems to take the affection of other dæmons with a kind of dignified forbearance.

Parker hums interestedly, then grasps Hardison's arm in an iron grip. "Let's go say hello," she says. Despite Hardison and Maevis protesting vehemently, fearing for their lives and the integrity of their hides, she is deceptively strong for her size, and she tows him across the grassy lawns towards the tree where Eliot and his mysterious lady friend are having their picnic.

As they get close, the two dæmons cease playing and lope back over to their humans. The woman is pretty, similar to Parker in height and build, but something about her is much...softer. Her red hair is done in braided pigtails, and she's smiling welcomingly at them, like she is not at all surprised to see them walking up. "You must be Hardison and Parker," she says brightly, setting aside her paperback. "Eliot was just telling me to expect you."

"You just couldn't leave it alone, could you?" Eliot growls. Normally, that kind of tone would be scary on its own, but considering that he's currently lying on the ground with his head in the lap of a woman wearing a floral skirt and a bumblebee sweater, not so much.

"Oops," Parker says without so much as a drop of sincerity, dropping down to sit on the edge of the blanket. The woman reaches in the picnic basket and hands her a mini-sandwich. "Who are you?"

"Cassandra Cillian," the woman replies, seeming entirely at ease with the admittedly strange situation. She's still finger-combing Eliot's hair, her other hand resting lightly on his chest. "You must be Parker, then."

"And Bunny," Parker says, as the chubby little gecko crawls out of her hood to perch on her shoulder.

"Nice to meet you both. This is Zurial," Cassandra introduces, patting her dæmon's side as he trots over to sit beside her, thumping his ridiculously fluffy tail. He grins at Bunny with lots of sharp white teeth. "Which means you must be Hardison. Lovely to meet you, Alec."

"Nice to meet you too," he echoes, reaching down to shake her hand. She looks so _normal._ It's unbelievable. What's she doing with their punchy raincloud emoji? Hardison gestures up at his shoulder. "Maevis."

Cassandra smiles and gestures to the unoccupied corner of blanket. "Feel free to sit down."

"Do _not_ feel free," Eliot protests, opening his eyes and tilting his head to look up at her.

"Eliot," the redhead admonishes lightly.

He shakes his head stubbornly. "No, dammit, this is my day off, and you two can kindly go back to whatever the hell you were doing before."

His dæmon backs up the sentiment with a succinct, "This is our damn picnic."

Zurial thumps his fluffy tail again and lightly nips at the leopard's ear with his sharp white teeth in affection. "Aw, c'mon, Mags, be nice."

Eliot snorts and turns his head to rub his cheek against Cassandra's skirt, the gesture oddly reminiscent of his dæmon's feline behaviours. "We _are_ being nice," he mutters back. He cracks one eye and looks at Parker and Hardison accusingly. "You are still here."

"We just wanted to meet your girlfriend," Parker protests, helping herself to another sandwich.

"You've met her. Now shoo."

Cassandra laughs aloud, the sound bright and gleeful, and her dæmon grins, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. She strokes Eliot's chest, reassuringly, then looks to Hardison and Parker. "Well, I'll come to the brewpub tomorrow night, and we can have dinner together. And Alec? Eliot has told me about you, so since you want to look me up, my middle name is Cybele, and I was born in New York City in 1986," she says with a wink.

Eliot's dæmon flicks her ears and shakes her head. "Don't encourage him."

"Margaretha, he's going to do it anyways, and you know it," the redhead replies, and then she reaches out and chucks the leopard under the chin. She _touches_ Eliot's dæmon like it's her own, and Eliot doesn't even twitch at someone touching his _soul._

Hardison's head is reeling. Information overload. How could anybody be so very _chill_ with someone looking up their whole life? And Eliot's dæmon, her name is _Margaretha?_ And she just lets Cassandra touch her? No problem? What the hell? He reaches down and grasps Parker's hand, gently tugging her to her feet. "Okay, come on. Babe, c'mon. Let's go," he murmurs. Maevis is almost vibrating with excitement on his shoulder, and he feels like his brain's about to burst.

"Okay. Bye, Cassandra," Parker says cheerfully. As they walk out of the park, seemingly unaware of Hardison's disbelief, she loops her arm with his and practically skips. "She's nice. I like her."

* * *

Once they've gone, Eliot looks up at Cassandra. "You shouldn't encourage him," he mutters.

She scratches her nails against his scalp again, and his lashes flutter shut. "He's going to look me up anyways, honey, and you know that he is. I might as well try make it easy for him." She bends down to kiss his forehead, smoothing his hair back. "I want to be friends with your friends, Eliot."

He grumbles wordlessly but admits her point. Margaretha presses herself sinuously against Cassandra's side, purring, and his whole body flushes with warmth at the touch. It feels so good to have her touch his dæmon. Like slipping into a bath that's just this side of too hot, but also like getting an electric shock, dunking into an ice bath, walking into a nuclear reactor and licking the core. It is warm and familiar and _safe._ Zurial lopes over and flops down next to Eliot, and he scratches behind one oversized ear, hearing Cassandra murmur appreciatively.

"Well, you've met my crew now. Most of it, anyways," Eliot says quietly, eyes still closed; he tilts his head and rubs his cheek against the soft, fuzzy fabric of her jumper just like Margaretha is doing. "So, when do I get to meet yours?"

"Don't you already know everyone?" Zurial points out, rolling onto his back so Eliot might scratch his belly.

Eliot huffs. That's...true. He'd crossed paths with Ezekiel Jones before, not long after he left Moreau; he and the Colonel had gotten into it once at Minya, an experience he didn't want to ever repeat; and of course, he had known Jacob since...well, conception. "I don't know them as your team, and they don't know me as your..." He pauses slightly. Boyfriend? Lover? "Yours," he settles on at last.

She nods and kisses his forehead again. "Soon. We need to safety the Annex first. Put away all the pointy things, make sure Jacob can't get into the weapons room," she giggles, and he opens one eye to glare at her halfheartedly.

"You're not funny."

Zurial huffs happily and burrows further into Eliot's side. "Yes, we are."

"Whatever. Give me another cracker. I'm enjoying my day off, woman," he says, holding up one hand.

Cassandra laughs brightly, then kisses the tip of his nose and hands him another cracker with a slice of cheese and turkey on it. "Then enjoy it."

They do.


End file.
